Hold Me Close(85)

“Thanks. I really don’t mind walking. It’s good for me. And it’s only a couple blocks. Fully lighted streets,” she added, then tacked on a small lie. “I have pepper spray.”

Becky looked doubtful. “If you’re sure...”

“I’m positive.” Effie took another deep breath. “I’m good.”

With Becky gone, Dee made a halfhearted effort at putting some food away while Effie got her coat from the dining room table, where she remembered Dee had put it. Dee stopped, though, after putting away the platter of veggies in the fridge. She gave Effie a look.

“I’m sorry about Becky.”

“No. It’s fine. I told you, I’d rather have you ask me than talk about it behind my back. It’s not like I’m ashamed of anything,” Effie said. “It’s shit that happened to me, you know, when I couldn’t help it. We all have shit, Dee. Mine just made me famous in the papers for half a second fifteen years ago.”

Dee gave her a tentative smile. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’ll listen. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. I’m really sorry about everything, that’s all.”

“I’m glad I came tonight.” It would take hours for the drinks to fully wear off, and Effie was already regretting how she was going to feel in the morning, but she meant it.

“Text me when you get home, okay?” Dee looked worried. “Are you sure I can’t have Jon give you a ride? He’ll be here in about an hour from work. I don’t mind hanging out with you until he gets here. I won’t be able to sleep until he does.”

“Jon,” Effie said. “No way!”

Dee looked pleased. “Yeah. It’s going really well. I kind of owe it to you, Effie. I sent him that message, and then the next thing you know, we were seeing each other every day. It’s like no time at all passed, yet everything’s different.”

“You’re not kids anymore,” Effie said.

“But he makes me feel sixteen,” Polly admitted in a whisper. “All lit up and tingly every time I see him.”

“Happy for you.” Was a hug appropriate? Damned if Effie knew, but f*ck it. She embraced Dee and squeezed her until they both laughed and Effie stepped back.

“You sure he can’t give you a ride home? It’s really cold out.”

“Nah. Really. I’m good.” At the front door, she paused. “Dee, I’m sorry I was a bitch to you about Meredith. And everything.”

“I deserved it.” Dee smiled. “Anyway, that’s over and done with. We’ll get together again soon, okay?”

Effie nodded. “Sure. That sounds great.”

On the sidewalk, she looked back to Dee’s front door, but it was closed, and who could blame her? The night had turned frigid, so cold Effie’s breath stung her nostrils and she dug in her pockets for her mittens. For a second, she regretted not taking a ride, but then she thought about having to sit in a moving vehicle and gulp-swallowed a slight burn rise of bile in her throat.

She should have turned right to head for home. Down two streets, then across one and over a block or so. She’d be home and in her bed in fifteen minutes, walking fast so she stayed warm.

Instead, she turned left.

Four blocks down. One block over. Another half a street because of the alley. And there it was. Daddy’s house. Unkempt yard, too-long grass glistening with frost. The driveway, cracked and never patched. And in the front window, something she’d never seen in all the years she’d driven past.

A light.





chapter thirty-seven

“You lied.” Effie had shouted this several times already until Bill had clamped his hand over her mouth. She could still taste his palm. She had not bitten him, although she wanted to. Now she lowered her voice because he would not hesitate to put her on the ground if he thought she would wake the neighbors.

“I didn’t lie to you, Effie. Jesus.” Bill wore only a pair of low-hanging pajama pants. His hair stuck up all over. He’d been asleep when she pounded on his door. Of course he had been, at eight in the morning when she’d sobered up enough to drive herself over there and wake him.


Effie had not slept. She’d spent a couple wretched hours wishing she could make herself sick to get rid of the roiling in her guts, then another few hours sipping hot tea and nibbling on saltines. By the time the sun rose, she’d managed to fend off the worst of the hangover, though her head still throbbed and her eyes felt as if she’d ground glass with them.

“You told me,” she said, “you would let me know if he got out. Fuck, Bill. He’s out. Someone’s in that house. It’s him. I know it is.”

“I could make some calls.” Bill yawned and scrubbed at his face, then padded to the counter to pour a mug of coffee before the pot had fully filled. Spatters hissed and bubbled on the hot plate before he put the carafe back without asking her if she wanted some. He looked at her over his shoulder. “Find out for sure. But, shit, Effie. Does it matter now?”

“How can you ask me that?”

Bill looked chastened. “All I mean is, he’s an old man now. He did his time...”

“He didn’t. He didn’t do his time,” Effie said. “He wasn’t supposed to get out, ever, and there he is, back in that f*cking house.”